There's a New King in Town
by kaaaaaaaos
Summary: The Hargrove family was suddenly uprooted and whisked away to Hawkins, Indiana after Billy got into a little bit of trouble. Billy struggles to come to term with his feelings, and as teenagers do, he suppresses it until it implodes. (Eventual smut)
1. Uprooted

There's a New King in Town

Chapter One: Uprooted

**Early Summer, 1984**

Neil Hargrove slammed Billy up against their kitchen cabinets and he tightened his grip around his pulsing throat.

"I'm not going to ask you again," Neil whispered angrily, "why were you getting out of that young man's car?" He was referencing Marcos' 65' yellow Mustang, which was now a pathetic pale beige color. Billy darted his eyes around the room frantically, looking for an escape route. Marcos was just a friend, hell, friend was an overstatement. They played basketball together occasionally when there was no one else in the Seaside High School gym.

Billy could feel Neil's beady little eyes staring into his soul, his breath was hot and sticky on Billy's face. It smelled like warm milk. Disgusting.

"I told you, he gave me a ride home from basketball." Neil's grip on his throat relaxed as he backed off. Billy breathed a quiet sigh of relief before he relaxed himself. He watched as Neil threw his arms up in stereotypical surrendering fashion, and chuckled to himself. Sadistic bastard, Billy thought as Neil swaggered towards the fridge.

He was caught off guard when Neil sharply turned around and socked him right in the jaw.

"Fuck!" He moaned as he dropped to the floor, clutching his face.

Neil crouched beside him, grabbed Billy's face in his hands and dug his finger into the red welt that was already appearing.

"Next time, don't accept charity from those faggots."

Billy met Neil's gaze.

"It would be helpful if I didn't have to walk a mile home from the school."

**Late Summer, 1984**

Motley Crue's 'Looks that Kill' came blasting through the Camaro's radio as Billy drove around with his windows down, grateful for the breeze. Neil had bought him the car after their little incident in the kitchen a month ago, and while Billy was grateful, he couldn't help but feel like there was a catch to this "gift".

He was on his way home from playing basketball at the gym with some guys but was feeling unsatisfied about something. Marcos never showed up for their pick-up game. He was there every single day; it was almost like the guy didn't have anything better to do. But damn, did all that work pay off. He was incredible at the game; Billy had never seen anyone play like him. He was sneaky yet surprisingly aggressive with his ball handling. Also, the guy was absolutely shredded. Billy couldn't help but sneak glances at him while they rinsed off their sweaty bodies underneath the communal shower head. Every once in a while he thought he saw Marcos steal one too.

Billy had been so caught up in his own head that he had taken the completely wrong way home. Looking around, he realized he was a block away from Marcos' house. Panicking, he wondered if he had accidentally done that on purpose. Angrily, he slammed the car into park and banged on the steering wheel.

"Fuck!" He yelled as he continued to assault the peeling leather wheel. He was so caught up in his own drama that he didn't notice Marcos approach the car.

"Dude, I'm pretty sure that thing never did anything to you." Marcos said as he leaned up against the side of the Camaro. Billy was so startled that he almost jumped out of his own skin. He turned to face Marcos and instantly felt his heart crawl up into his chest. He managed to shrug his shoulders and croak out a weak "hi."

Marcos took this as an invitation to get into the car, and Billy was not about to tell him otherwise. He was wearing these huge shades that looked girly. Billy looked closer and noticed a purple tinge to his left cheek. It suddenly dawned on him that Marcos was trying to hide a black eye; but why? Around here no one blinked at a black eye, plus some of the boys were known to get a little too rough while playing a friendly game of pickup.

"What are you doing over here?" Marcos asked, gesturing to his neighborhood. Billy faltered and panicked to come up with some convincing reason.

"Just driving around, seeing what stations I can get," he said while pretending to be suddenly very interested in the radio.

"Ah. For a moment there I thought you might be lookin' for me." Billy scoffed as he settled on a rock radio station.

"You wish." He turned back to look at Marcos, who had now taken off his sunglasses, revealing a nice purple shiner. They made eye contact and Billy could've sworn he felt something odd before he quickly turned his attention back to his steering wheel.

"You wanna tell me why you were assaulting your poor, unsuspecting wheel?" Billy could feel the heat flushing to his face. He took a deep breath and slowly drug his tongue across his teeth.

He looked Marcos right in the eyes and said: "Bitch had it comin'."

**October 1984**

Billy swaggered down the hallways at Hawkins High School and was pleasantly amused by the girls who jumped either in or out of his way, depending on their place in the social hierarchy that is high school. Speaking of royalty, it was his second day and he had already heard so much about this "King Steve" who had left his throne like a bumbling idiot after some girl who had a dead friend. Tommy and Carol were simple court jesters who were in dire need of a new king, and well, Billy was fully prepared to wear the crown.

Despite the fact that he was pissed off that his dad decided to uproot them from California and move them to bum fuck nowhere, Billy was feeling pretty confident about his place at Hawkins High. That being said, all of the people in this school were idiots.

Neil claimed that they moved here because he got a new job, but Billy knew better than to believe that convenient lie. Some part of him wanted to just start over and shove those feelings down so deep that they'd simply cease to exist. Then he saw Harrington at basketball practice.

That hair was almost comical. No wonder they called him Steve "The Hair" Harrington. It'd be a crime not to use that somehow. Billy sized him up from across the gym, speculating if his hair added an extra three or four inches to his height. Once he got past that massive birds nest, Billy felt his eyes float down to Steve's face. He felt his heart crawl up into his throat and just sit there, pressing hard against his Adam's apple. Billy had felt this once before and absolutely refused to acknowledge it. Instead, he chalked it up to heartburn and walked away.


	2. Buckle Up

Buckle Up

**October 31****st****, 1984**

Billy watched as Steve angrily stormed out of the door, furiously slamming it behind him. He was muttering to himself as he riffled through his pockets in an attempt to find his keys.

"Hey Harrington," Tommy called after him, "where ya goin'? Afraid that you've been dethroned?" Steve turned around, flipped him off and continued to empty his pockets, his agitation was obviously increasing. Tommy laughed and high fived the other goons around him; obviously finding humor in Steve's irritation. Billy put his hands on his hips and continued to watch as Steve failed to find his keys. Steve didn't appear drunk, but then again, Billy was decently drunk himself. After all, he had just beaten Steve's own beer keg stand record by five seconds. He looked so mad, his face was all scrunched up and his hand was tangled in his own hair, and somehow it looked even better than it had before. Billy felt his heart crawl up into his throat once again as Harrington turned around and threw his hands in the air in defeat.

"All right, which one of you idiots swiped my keys?" Everyone snickered at him, but no one said anything. Billy watched in amusement as Steve stomped back inside in search of his car keys, once again banging the door behind him. He couldn't help but feel slightly upset as his entertainment was no longer present. Tommy offered Billy a beer, so he took it and chugged the damn thing. He was attempting to drown that lump in his throat. Unfortunately, it was not that easy.

Steve began asking around the party to see if anyone had seen a set of BMW keys, but no one had. He was about to give up and just walk home when he spotted Nancy, who had Jonathan's arm around her.

"Nancy. Where are my keys?" He demanded, his arm outstretched. Her drunken brain took a second to process exactly what he was asking, as she cocked her head at him and made a sour face. Jonathan stepped between the two of them and inched closer to Steve.

"She's drunk. She doesn't know up or down." Jonathan said plainly, his eyes harsh and unforgiving. Steve remarked to himself that he looked kind of like an angry old toad.

"Keys! Yes!" Nancy cackled as she sank to the floor. Steve and Jonathan exchanged glances and then each took one of her arms and hoisted her up. Her head hung and she was basically dead weight on his shoulders. But what had she done with his keys?  
"Nancy, what did you do with them?" She acted like her head weighed a million pounds as it rolled around on her scrawny neck.

"They were bullshit! So I put them where bullshit goes!" She exclaimed proudly. Fuck. Had she flushed his keys? Jonathan mumbled out an apology before gathering Nancy up and carrying her in his arms, leaving Steve standing there by himself. He put his head in his hands and suppressed the violent urge to scream at the top of his lungs. He had lost everything in the span of an hour. Nancy thought their relationship was bullshit and didn't love him, Hargrove thought he was the new top dog, and apparently, his key got flushed away. He decided to go scope out the bathroom anyway, just in case Nancy was bluffing about dumping his keys.

He nearly passed out from relief when he spotted his keys glimmering in the trash can. Steve managed to fish them out without puking and washed them off in the sink, praying that they weren't absolutely disgusting. Once he was satisfied that they were clean enough, he put them in his pocket and began to walk towards his car.

Billy and his new clowns watched as he strutted past them, happy that he finally found his damn keys. He could feel their eyes on him, watching as he unlocked his car and hopped inside. Steve fiddled with the radio station, stalling because he did not want to go home because he knew he was going to find comfort at the bottom of a bottle. To his surprise, the passenger door opened and Billy sat down next to him. The aroma of beer quickly filled the car because Billy absolutely reeked of the stuff. Steve had no clue how to react.

"Uh. What's up?" Steve asked, wondering why the fuck his new enemy had taken it upon himself to a ride. Billy smirked and drunkenly made a face at him. He appeared to have little control over his head, it hung around like a rag doll. Steve wondered if his own head did that while he was drunk.

"I need a ride home." Steve stared blankly at him. Why was this his problem?

"And I care because…?"

"Do it out of the goodness of your heart," Billy said, almost mockingly. He was real cocky for a guy without a way home.

"Let me think about it," Steve paused as he pretended to ponder. "Uh, no." Billy rolled his eyes at him and turned to grab the seatbelt but Steve quickly seized his hand and tried to shove him against the door. Billy easily met his strength and instead rammed Steve against his own door, pushing hard against his chest. Steve angrily slapped Billy's meaty hands away from him, this was getting ridiculous. But Billy wouldn't let up, he kept his hands pinned against Steve's chest and was staring directly into his eyes. He looked back at him and Steve felt a shiver go down his spine. But he didn't think it was because of the frigid October air. Billy slowly moved his hand towards Steve's throat but kept their eyes locked the entire time. He wasn't sure what the fuck was going on but he wasn't scared or worried or anything, in fact, he was intrigued by what Billy was doing. Suddenly, Billy took his hands off of Steve and hugged himself tightly. He banged his head against the dashboard and just let it lay there somberly. Steve was suddenly very worried he'd have to lug a passed out Billy onto his couch and he was not sure if he was strong enough for that; the guy appeared to be all muscle.

He decided to poke the bear.

"Billy? Dude? Are you good?" He asked quietly, shaking his shoulder in an attempt to get him up and out. Billy moaned in response and Steve felt his throat tighten. He quickly coughed to get it to go away but it remained there. He began to get angry; this douche wouldn't get out of his car and Steve wanted nothing more than to go home to his empty house and chug the entire liquor cabinet. The stress of everything was finally starting to get to him; he could no longer keep up this façade he had going on. Barb dying, the upside-down, Nancy and Jonathan, and now there was a new douchebag in town. Steve was really tempted to copy Billy and just bang his head on the steering wheel until he passed out. Instead, he decided he was going to get this guy out of his car. He managed to get Billy's head off of the dashboard and watched as he slumped his body back against the seat. Steve stared at him as he began to think of a way to drag him out of the car when he noticed a stain on Billy's pants. He looked closer and realized that it kind of looked like cum, but it seemed like it came from the inside of his pants. What the fuck…

"Billy, dude, wake up," Steve said as he shook his shoulder. No response. Okay, time for a more drastic measure. He slapped Billy right in the face, hard. That got his attention! He turned to glare at Steve, his eyes narrowing.

"Get out." Billy drunkenly lunged for the door handle and was somehow able to clobber out of the car and onto the road. Judging by the way he was walking, Billy wasn't going to remember a thing about Halloween night. Steve didn't hesitate to put the car in drive and get the fuck out of there. He couldn't help but wonder what had happened that make Billy cum in his pants…

An hour later, Steve was a quarter of a bottle deep and was almost all out of tears. As soon as he walked in the door he grabbed a handle of vodka and flung himself onto his bed. He kind of felt like a broken-hearted teenage girl in those stupid movies, but then he realized he was definitely worse off than them, therefore it was okay that he was bawling. Nancy had completely caught him off guard with the whole "bullshit" spiel, and it was really weighing on him. So, he decided to do what any other teenage boy would do in this situation and went to look for his stash of nudie magazines. They were lazily hidden on the top shelf of his closet; he was lucky that no one ever really came into his room. He browsed through them before settling on his favorite.

There was one problem though.

His dick wouldn't work.

He tried for about half an hour to get it up and going but it wasn't successful. The girls just weren't doing it for him for whatever reason. Sure, they were hot, but it was almost as if they were missing a certain aspect.

Oh well, Steve just chalked it up to whiskey dick and fell asleep with the bottle still in his hand.


End file.
